


And Back Again

by DreamingMoonlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Cursed Anakin, M/M, Touch-Starved, Vaderkitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 04:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10563924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingMoonlight/pseuds/DreamingMoonlight
Summary: Darth Vader is on Tatooine with a mission and cannot be stopped.  Not until the Witch of the Junland Wastes stands in his path and changes the course of his destiny.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a conversation with [kasuchans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasuchans/pseuds/kasuchans) and written at [DevhanAer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevhanAer). Look, if fandom's not going to provide me with nearly enough of the ridiculous tropes I love, I guess I gotta do it myself!

Vader stands on the sands of Tatooine for the first time in years, no longer feeling the heat of its twin suns through the temperature regulation of his suit, but he is no less resentful at being back here.

He does not plan to stay long, only long enough to find his old Master and finally end what lays unfinished between them. After, he will leave this place and never will he have cause to return to the endless barren dunes and relentless burning suns.

The rebel transmission the Empire interrupted had come from Tatooine, from General Kenobi to Senator Organa, the contents garbled through an encryption that they have yet to break, but it doesn't matter, all that matters is that Obi-Wan Kenobi is somewhere on Tatooine and Vader will find him. He'd felt _something_ in orbit around the planet, but it was vague and unfocused, he couldn't quite grab hold of it, so he has landed near Mos Eisley (and he might be grateful that it wasn't near Mos Espa, even if those memories would have fed his anger and hate, he does not want to touch them again, his Master is not here to force him to scrape those wounds open again, so Vader lets them lie) and if he has to walk a hundred miles to find his quarry, then he will.

What he hasn't expected is to cross paths with the old Witch of the Junland Wastes.

*

Her dark, heavy clothes should have weighed her down or trapped the heat against her aging skin, but she seems unaffected by these things. Her face is haggard, but there is life and strength in her that would not be denied, and she stands in Vader's path, her hands folded gently in front of her, her bright eyes set on him, as if they peered past his mask to see the whole of him. She is a legend of Tatooine, one that had been lost with his former life, and so Vader does not fear her or respect her, she is nothing to him.

"You will not go this way," she tells him, standing still in the middle of the road. It would not be difficult to push her out of the way, to throw her down the gentle cliffside that he's climbed all this way for and yet he does not.

"Stand aside or be cut down." His lightsaber is in his hand, not yet ignited, but it would be the work of seconds if she does not take this moment of convenience. Certainly not one of mercy and certainly not a creeping sense of unease.

"I will not." She tucks her withered hands closer to her and her gaze seems to grow sharper. "You will not go this way. Turn back or you will not find what you are looking for."

"I will find what I am looking for ahead and you are in my way," Vader says and has no patience left for this, his lightsaber brutally efficient as it swings across her in less than the span of a heartbeat. It singes her clothing into tatters, but that is all the resistance he feels, as if she disappears the moment his blade touches her skin.

The Force swirls lazily around him, still at his beck and call, the only true ally he needs, but something roils under the surface, something he cannot grasp the shape of. The witch's clothes flutteres to the ground, like a shadow across his path, the ends waving in the weak breeze across the plains.

"You are selfish and cruel," a voice calls to him, resonating in the Force, everywhere and nowhere at once. "That you have refused to break free from this molding is a curse upon you greater than any I can give. And yet, to cut me down, there is a price and you will pay it."

Vader's lightsaber is still held before him, whatever it is that would come for him--and he can feel it, can feel the old witch's power focusing on him now--he will meet it and destroy it as he has everything before. And then it is on him, his red blade cutting through nothing but air.

It seeps into him, under the edges of the suit, between the sealed seams, into his skin and swirling up before his eyes, a riot of gray that steals over the red he sees the world through.

And then it is over and Vader falls into darkness.

*

"Hello there, little one," a voice says the next time Vader is aware of anything, his mind still fogged and sluggish. The world is wrong somehow, too large or at a new angle, he can't quite figure it out. Careful hands are reaching for him and Vader flinches, knows that he's supposed to do something, he's supposed to react somehow, but he can't think of what it is, can't think of anything but the sudden heat and how it's too much.

The hands are gentle on him, stroking down his sides carefully and their owner moves slowly, smelling of sweat and something bitter that Vader wants to chase down, wants to understand, because it's familiar. But instead he makes some quiet noise, the heat feeling as though it's roasting his brain and he hates it, hates everything in this moment, and yet desperately craves something, he doesn't know what.

"What are you doing out here?" the voice asks, much closer now and Vader can see bright blue eyes and a tan face peering at him curiously. The man sparks something, Vader should be doing something, should be going somewhere, but those too are like trying to grasp onto vapor and mist--and he knows this planet has none of that.

The stranger makes a plaintive sound, like a small animal crying for attention, and Vader feels the emotion of it, the fear of the unknown and the misery of this planet, the pain and suffering that lay underneath it. He doesn't understand when the man rubs a gentle hand over his head, he can feel it travel the length of him, but something is strange about it, he doesn't know what.

"There, there," the man says. "I suppose I can't just leave you out here, can I? You look half-starved as it is."

Vader doesn't understand how the man suddenly sounds so calm and reassuring, not when there's another plaintive animal noise--several of them in a row, wounded and raw. He tries to protest the hands still on him, fights as hard as he can, but he's weak and ineffective, not even able to land a single scratch.

He's lifted into the air, his arms and legs cradled carefully, and he's placed against a solid chest, he can hear the steady heartbeat, can smell the smell of an overheated human and _something_ , that bitter smell he knows but won't come to him, and it's cooler here, enough that his thoughts slip away and darkness swims up to swallow him again.

*

The next awakening is softer still, it's much cooler where he is and there is a large plate of food next to him. He's been put on a bed of something scratches pleasantly at his skin and he stretches out his legs and yawns loudly and arches his spine into the much more tolerable sun streaming in through the window.

The food on the plate is several strips of some kind of meat that smells delicious and Vader immediately leans over to bite at one of the pieces, uncaring that it's difficult to break off a piece or chew it. It's the real food he's eaten with his own mouth in years and he'd forgotten the feeling of it, how incredible it felt to _taste_ again. The bowl of water next to the plate is simple but just as satisfying, he drinks greedily, until the bowl is pulled away from him, a growl ripping from this throat.

"My apologies," says an amused voice. "I know that you're starving, but you'll make yourself sick at this rate."

Vader hisses at the man, reaching out to swipe at him, his claws raking across the back of his hand. The man is startled, but doesn't spill any of the water, somehow his reflexes are better than that, but he still doesn't hand it back and Vader growls again.

"In a moment, little one," the man says. The bowl of water is set out of reach, so he can focus on the strips of meat on the plate--tearing them into smaller chunks, which are admittedly easier to eat. Vader lowers his head to grab at one of them, but doesn't take his distrusting glare off the man.

When the plate comes back, the man moves away again, his hands folded into the arms of his tunic. "There you go, eat your fill. It's all I have for now, but you're welcome to it."

It's difficult to sort through the feelings of gratitude and the fury that are warring for prominence in him, so instead Vader focuses on the texture of the food in front of him. He wants more, he wants _everything_. What's on the plate is gone all too soon and he looks up in demand at the man, he doesn't need to say anything to make his intentions clear.

"I suppose a trip back into town is in order soon then," the may says and lifts his own cup, the bitter smell back again and coming from it. Vader wants it, wants to leap over the table and grab it for himself.

Instead, he waits patiently for the man to set it down and turn away for a moment and then hops nimbly onto the table, sniffing at what's in the cup. He knows it. He _knows_ it, he just can't place it.

He takes a cautious sip of it, his head bent towards it, his whiskers brushing the side of the cup, and it's disgusting, it's that old tea that his former Master liked, it's the _same_ , it's--

Memories crash through Vader's mind, the instincts of his new form overwritten by the human memories still lurking underneath, and he knows where he is.

Tatooine.

The Witch of the Junland Wastes.

The man who picked him up off the road.

 _Obi-Wan Kenobi_.

Rage sweeps across him, like fire in his veins, as he understands what the Witch had cursed him with. He is in the body of a small cat, his mind fogged by the instincts of this new body, and he is in the home of the man he's come to kill. Vader yowls his fury to all who can hear it, the cup of tea crashing over the side as he swipes at it with one golden brown paw, the soft crash of it on the floor not nearly enough to slake the hunger that rises up in him for utter destruction.

Obi-Wan turns back to the table in surprise, his eyebrows raised and his mouth parted to exclaim something, but Vader does not care, he only wants to ruin everything around him. He leaps off the table directly at Obi-Wan, his claws unsheathed and his teeth on display, he flings every ounce of his new self at the nearest target, ready to rip him into bloody ribbons.

Yet again he's caught and held, Obi-Wan's Jedi reflexes have not been dulled by the five years he's spent away from Vader. One hand is tucked underneath him, the other holds his small body back against that warm, solid chest, he can feel the heartbeat through the tunics, and he hates it, wants to rip that heart from the chest, wants to curl up against it and listen to it, wants to simply be touched, wants to tear the galaxy in half with his own paws, his own hands.

He growls deeply enough that his throat already hurts, still parched from the hot sun he spent too long in, his feline body not able to handle it as well as a human's could have. But he's stuck, no matter how violently he twists and turns, no matter how hard he kicks his legs, he cannot go anywhere.

"Shh, shh," Obi-Wan says and Vader hates that voice, hates it like he hasn't hated anything since he lost everything, since he'd been burned into ash in body and soul. Hates it and wants it at the same time. "I'm not going to hurt you. Shh, it's all right."

Vader doesn't want Anakin Skywalker's memories, but they're impossible to exorcise from his thoughts. All the times his former Master had soothed a hand over his shoulders when Anakin had turned to him for comfort--it had never been enough! Vader viciously thinks and yowls again, that Obi-Wan thinks it can be enough now--Vader doesn't want them, hates them, but cannot escape them. It quiets something in him, until he's quieted into a low growl, but no longer fighting.

"All right, there you go," Obi-Wan says and puts him down on the table, Vader making a half-hearted warning slash with his claws. It doesn't connect, but Obi-Wan keeps his distance.

A few minutes later, he's back. Not quite in range, but close enough that Vader lashes his tail in warning again.

"A peace offering," Obi-Wan says and pushes forward another plate of food--bantha meat again, Vader's stomach says hungrily--and a small bowl of blue milk.

He eats both of them greedily and then skulks off to the furthest corner he can get in this small home, far enough away that Obi-Wan won't come near him, but close enough that Vader can still glare at him and be seen. He has to make sure Obi-Wan knows that he's angry. Obi-Wan lets him go with a half smile that Vader thinks is familiar, too.

*

Later, Obi-Wan disappears out the door to attend to some task, Vader doesn't care what it is, only that he's angry at being left alone. His thoughts are only halfway his own, the other half belonging to some instinct that he cannot really name, that want him to do things he should not want to do. It's only minutes that Obi-Wan is gone before Vader is leaping off his perch in the tiny alcove next to the cooling unit that he'd claimed as his own.

He wanders the two rooms for awhile, sniffing at the tools laid out on the small table across from Obi-Wan's bed (he knocks them to the floor), at the vacuum-sealed chest in the middle of the room (he leaves a few scratches along the top), at the weapons hanging on the far wall (they all make a loud clatter as they fall to the floor). None of it is interesting or useful, nothing will help out of his situation, this trap that has been sprung around him.

He's no longer hungry, but he sniffs out the food storage in the basement below, clawing it open just to prove that he could, the contents spilling out and only a few bites missing after he wanders off again. Obi-Wan's bed is the next victim, his claws rip satisfyingly into the top sheet, the smell of his former Master strongest here and Vader rolls around in it, lets his own scent mix in with it, rubs his head across the pillow and breathes in deeply--and part of him revels in that, even if this body is tiny and useless, he _can_ do this, can feel everything on his skin, his fur, can breathe, can smell, can see with his own eyes again--leaves his own marking behind.

This gets out most of the sand that had worked its way under his fur, but there's still a few stray grains that stubbornly remain. It's a simple matter to twist himself around, his new tongue scraping across his fur to grind them out and if he accidentally swallows some, he pays it no mind--until his stomach hurts and feels unsettled enough that he realizes he needs to purge himself.

He leaves the vomited mess of sand and fur in Obi-Wan's spare boots.

Then he drags down Obi-Wan's robe from its hook on the far wall and settles it on the floor below. He settles his new feline backside right onto it, wriggling into place, the smell of his former Master all around him, and waits for Obi-Wan's return to the destruction of his own.

This is Vader's spot now, this is his bed now, he will not give up his territory. And he will make sure Obi-Wan knows it.

Obi-Wan's reaction, upon seeing the storm that had raged through his home, was decidedly less satisfying than Vader had hoped. "I see you've been busy while I was away." is distinctly Obi-Wan's typical lackluster response.

*

There's not far for Obi-Wan to go, the hut he's chosen as his home is barely more than four rooms, but Vader follows him into every one, because otherwise Obi-Wan will not know how furious he is that he was left alone. That he's still angry about everything that happened before. Obi-Wan seems uncaring of this, he glances back at Vader only occasionally, his routine utterly uninspired and dull. He meditates much of the time and Vader watches him, his stubbed tail flicking angrily back and forth, letting the sun warm his back and lulling him into a drowse. This body may be small and now well-fed, but he tires quickly and will fall asleep nearly anywhere if he doesn't watch himself.

Vader is making another circuit of the small home, a potted plant in his way that Obi-Wan stubbornly insisted on trying to nourish--he remembers that Anakin Skywalker's Master had never particularly liked plants, but kept trying at them in memory of his own Master, Vader pushes the thought away--and he knocks it to the ground, hating the sight of it. It's heavy and spills dirt everywhere, not quite knocking the plant out of the pot, but enough that it makes his point.

Obi-Wan cracks open one eye at him and sighs--Vader feels vicious satisfaction for a moment, then it drains away as quickly as it came. Obi-Wan moves to clean up the mess, not a single complaint, only slow and steady work to right the plant and put it in a new place where Vader will have more difficulty reaching it. He wants to knock it over again immediately.

As if he can sense Vader's mood, Obi-Wan turns back to him and rubs a hand across his head--it's only a bit more tolerable now, Vader ducks his head away, lets Obi-Wan's hand trail across his back, but he doesn't hiss this time--and looks at him thoughtfully.

"You will need a name if you're going to stay," Obi-Wan says as Vader settles back near the stove. It's nearing night and the day's heat will be gone soon, he hates the cold even more than Anakin Skywalker ever did. Obi-Wan's gaze turns sad as whatever thoughts are in his head wind their way through their complicated paths. "You remind me of someone I once knew...."

Vader doesn't respond, just watches with wary, distrustful eyes, letting his new instincts slide his own thoughts away.

*

That night, it's cold and Vader cannot sleep. The stove has burned too low, it won't keep him warm enough and so he takes to wandering around the house. There's a cup of tea with only dregs left in it that he knocks off the table, but it doesn't break on the floor and Obi-Wan doesn't stir in his bed. It's not enough.

Not enough noise and fury.

He yowls as loudly as he can, at nothing, at everything, and is satisfied when Obi-Wan startles out of bed, his hair mussed and wild, eyes darting around for what woke him. Vader stares directly at him, knowing Obi-Wan can see him, the faint moonlight filtering in reflected in his eyes.

"Can't sleep?" Obi-Wan asks, reaching for Vader. He can't stand to let Obi-Wan touch him and claws at his former Master, leaving two red stripes down the back of his hand.

"I see," Obi-Wan says calmly, shaking out his hand. "You want company, but don't want to admit it."

Vader snarls at him, unable to properly voice what he thinks of that.

"So angry...." Obi-Wan murmurs. Then the corner of his mouth quirks up as he shuffles out of bed and goes to clean up the mess Vader left near the table. "Perhaps I should call you Mace."

It's a joke, not one meant for a primitive feline's brain to understand, but though Vader is diminished like this, he retains enough to know what it means and it infuriates him. He hisses and makes a strangled noise, like he would fight anything that stood in his path if that name were spoken again. If any of the names from that time were spoken again.

Obi-Wan quirks a brow at him, not commenting on the sudden outburst. "All right. Vapaad then?"

It's still too close. Vader hisses and lashes his tail, his spine arched in an aggressive line. It's not as bad, but he won't tolerate it, not for a moment.

"Shien?"

It's... tolerable. Vader has never really used one form or another, his style is a mix of whatever happens to work at the moment, he has bits and pieces from all of them, but mostly he relies on sheer brutal power, as he has so much of it. He doesn't want to be tied to anything of the past, but he settles enough for Obi-Wan, who seems decided on it.

Vader knows that it's the closest Obi-Wan will come to naming him after a dead man. And it means nothing to him--certainly not a knot in his chest that he cannot untie--that Obi-Wan hangs onto that memory even now.

*

Shien--Vader, the distinction is slipping away from his feline-fogged mind more and more, it's too easy to fall into this new life, the days passing as if in a haze, the anger slowly giving way to reveling in being able to touch and taste and smell and feel for himself again--is covered in scars, he can feel them under his fur when he grooms himself. He imagines that his ears are notched as well, that there are scars running across his face and his back, but he can only feel them when Obi-Wan runs gentle fingers across his spine.

It's also easier and easier to tolerate this, Shien--Vader--doesn't know how long he's been here, but it has to have been weeks at the least. Most likely more than a month now. He has no idea if the Emperor is still looking for him, he'd never told anyone where he was going, he's not strong enough now in the Force to call out to anyone. Even Obi-Wan doesn't seem to think him Force-sensitive like this. Shien can feel the Force still around him, he can lose himself in its currents when cat-napping in the sun, but he cannot grab hold of it like he used to.

It's hard to mind when Obi-Wan's hand is slow and gentle on his head, rubbing just the right spot behind his ears so that Shien will lean into the touch.

There's no one here to know, Obi-Wan doesn't even know. Shien has to face that he may be like this for the rest of his life--however long this body will live--and that means there's nothing else for him. Nothing to haunt him if he lets it go, nothing he's obligated to fulfill, nothing he must deny himself to remain strong in the dark side.

There is no point to holding on to such meaningless things anymore.

When he realizes this, it becomes suddenly easy to give in to the urge (and instinct) to nimbly hop up onto Obi-Wan's lap as he works on a few water reclaimer parts strewn across the small table in the middle of the room. One hand easily finds his ears again and Shien purrs in contentment for the first time in as long as he can remember.

(He still leaves hairballs and dead sand lizards in Obi-Wan's shoes, though.)

*

Obi-Wan talks to him most days and seems brighter than when Shien first saw him. He's not sure what to make of that, if he's angry about it or if it pleases some hidden part of him.

He's perched on Obi-Wan's legs again, a daily activity at this point, and the sun hits him just right and he rolls over to stretch out all four legs in a way that feels better than anything except food and maybe Obi-Wan's nails on that one spot right at the back of his neck. There's nothing he could want more, he has resigned himself to this life and thinks that the Witch almost did him a favor. This is more than he's had in years.

"You remind me of someone I used to know," Obi-Wan echoes his thoughts from so long ago. This time it's softer and only a little less sad. "He would stretch himself out in the sun like this, too, if I let him."

Shien looks up at him with his golden eyes, blinking slowly at Obi-Wan, the memories that are his and not his are there but not crowded. He looks away before he can untangle any of this, letting himself slip away into the simple feline thoughts of his human and the way those fingers feel in his fur.

"Someone I loved very much." Obi-Wan pauses, like it's an effort just to think these things, much less say them aloud. But Shien is just a cat, a companion who should not understand and shouldn't need anything more from him than this. "He was temperamental as well, one never knew if he wanted affection or a fight."

Shien--Vader--Anakin--rubs his head against Obi-Wan's hand, meowing softly when they still.

"And he never seemed to know what to do with either. I wish...." Obi-Wan trails off for a long moment. "I wish I could have helped him more," he finishes, like the weight of the galaxy is still on his shoulders.

There's nothing more from him that night, he grows silent and melancholy, only continues stroking Shien's flanks, rubbing gently at his ears, smiling sadly when Shien leans into his hand and purrs.

Shien--Vader--Anakin--doesn't mean to do it, but he has been worn down by the endless days and if he can comfort his human with a low purr, then he will.

Later, when Obi-Wan has gone to bed and Shien is curled up near the stove, close enough to watch his human, he hears a voice, but not aloud.

 _When last we met, you were selfish and cruel, as are the ways of the Sith. Perhaps you will find a way to lift this curse yet,_ the Witch's voice echoes through his head, through the Force around him.

Shien bolts from the room, darting into the basement and under the far shelves there, his heart hammering in his chest and his limbs trembling, but the voice is gone and does not come back again.

*

It's weeks still yet before Shien has entirely forgotten the message, letting it fade into the mists of his mind where all the other painful things have disappeared to. It's much easier to focus on the softer meat that Obi-Wan has brought home for him (Shien still does not approve when he leaves, he meows angrily when Obi-Wan comes back, follows him around the house and glares in judgement at him until he's given a treat to soothe him) or on the way Obi-Wan smells when Shien is perched over his lap or when he's content to let the night pass by him quietly, that the greater galaxy doesn't have to exist for him anymore.

It's the night that Obi-Wan has a nightmare that changes everything--it's obvious only to those who know him, Shien can see the way his brows crease inward and he rolls over more than his human ever should, the name of a dead man on his lips. Shien also doesn't meant to do it, but he's not thinking, can only focus on the suffering man in front of him and he hates that it happens, wants to wipe that pain away, as his own has been pushed back.

Purely just for the sake of comforting his human, Shien hops down onto the bed and wriggles his way under Obi-Wan's arm. He's pressed against that familiar heartbeat and he purrs, low and rumbling. He rubs his head against the scruff along Obi-Wan's jaw, anything to calm the nightmare plaguing this man.

A totally selfless moment about concern for someone else, no care for if Obi-Wan does or doesn't know about it.

As soon as Obi-Wan settles, his hand now stroking Shien's fur, half awake and regaining his calm with the purring, something _happens_.

Shien can't explain it, only that the world feels like it twists itself inside out, awkward and uncomfortable, but not painful.

And suddenly very, very cold.

Obi-Wan wakes soon after, his eyes unfocused with sleep and he smiles softly, like he's in a particularly pleasant dream.

Shien stretches his legs out now that the nightmare has passed, content and ready to hop back to his alcove, still the middle of the night, but just as satisfying to feel it pull warmly at his muscles as if he were in the morning sun, when-- oh, wait, what is that, it's his arm, but it's too long, it's too pale, his paws are too slender and aren't right, and there's the bright gleam of metal out of the corner of his eye, catching on the moonlight, and he can still breathe, and-- _oh_.

Shien--Vader-- _Anakin_ \--whips around to stare at Obi-Wan, who has grasped onto what he's seeing before him. Anakin's mind is a hurricane of fear and terror, he's been exposed and Obi-Wan will _know_ , already knows, _sees_ him, will kill him, will never touch him again, will leave him cold and miserable like before, and he cannot stand it, cannot go back, not now that he's had this, not now that he's healed from it and has something to lose again. His eyes are wild when he looks at Obi-Wan, fear streaming into the Force around him.

Obi-Wan's hand shakes as he reaches out to touch Anakin's face, a feather light touch at first, then gently sliding across one now-human cheek. "Anakin?" he asks, so much hope and so much fear at the same time.

Anakin's first instinct is to bolt out of the room, but he knows that he'd just get tangled up in the sheets and he's tucked against the wall, he'd have to climb over Obi-Wan to get out. He considers it anyway, until Obi-Wan touches him, the first real touch he's had on his human skin in years.

He's pressed against Obi-Wan, but there's layers of clothing between them, it's not the same as being touched skin to skin. When Obi-Wan's hand slides against his cheek, he can't help it, he crumples, he can feel his expression collapsing in on itself as he doesn't know _what_ to do with himself.

So he breaks, sobs quietly and shoves his face against Obi-Wan's shirt, tucks his head underneath Obi-Wan's chin and curls his fingers into the cloth in front of him.

Doesn't say anything, doesn't know what _to_ say.

Just cries harder when Obi-Wan's hands come up around him, his hands so warm and real against Anakin's back, his lips real against the crown of Anakin's head.

What Anakin will understand later, so much later, when Obi-Wan confesses it into the wild curls that are back in a golden halo around his head, is that he had no idea what in the nine hells was going on, but he'd thought and thought about what he should have done, what he wishes he'd known to do for Anakin before, so many times that, when there's a distraught Anakin in his arms, he immediately pulls him closer and embraces him.

Says his name over and over, soft and quiet, encouraging Anakin to let out whatever he needs to let out, as he smooths over the skin of Anakin's shoulders and back, rubs a warm line along the length of his spine.

In the moment, Anakin only knows the comfort of touch that even as a cat he hadn't felt this way. He only knows that he's being held and soothed by someone he thought he could never again turn to, but who is offering him everything that he'd tried to kill the want for inside himself.

It takes a long time for Anakin to wear himself out, there was so much more grief in him than even he'd realized. This warm _touch_ again, gentle in a way that nothing has been gentle to him in years.

Anakin, having exhausted himself, doesn't want to look up, doesn't want to see whatever expression is on Obi-Wan's face, doesn't want to see if Obi-Wan hates him, not now that he's been filled back up with Obi-Wan's love all over again, not now that he's realized he loved Obi-Wan all along. He doesn't want his own rage and hurt and anger to come boiling back up, 

Because it's still there, even if he loves Obi-Wan, can admit that now. The anger is still there, pressing at the walls of his mind, trying to crowd out the kinder things, like it would be so easy to call for the Force again and choke the life out of Obi-Wan or summon the lightsaber he knows is in that sealed chest, to run Obi-Wan through, to cut him to pieces as he himself was cut to pieces.

And so he keeps his face pressed against Obi-Wan's collarbone, and wildly thinks that if he stays there long enough it can just be this way forever.

Anakin can feel Obi-Wan's reluctance and wants to shout at him to stop, to not leave this moment, _Don't ruin it!_ he wants to scream, but Obi-Wan forges ahead anyway. "How is this possible...?" he asks. "Anakin, what in the galaxy....?"

"I don't really know," Anakin croaks quietly. "There was a Witch out in the Junland Wastes.... and then I was a cat.... and then I was here... and then you were here... and I don't know." He doesn't really want to think about it, makes a soft pained noise and presses closer again.

"A witch?" Obi-Wan asks, badly masking his disbelief as if to say: Surely, they've experienced weirder things. (When, no, they really haven't.) "And the cat was you all this time...?"

Anakin winces, still so raw from being ripped away from what little comfort he'd managed to claw out in this galaxy again. "Yes."

"Did you know...?"

"Sometimes. It came and went. There was a lot of... instinct."

An image of all the times Obi-Wan walked in on Shien licking himself in the sun flicker between them in the Force and Obi-Wan has the grace to not say, _....ah._

"That probably does explain the purring," Obi-Wan says instead, gently testing the waters of teasing Anakin about this.

"I didn't--" Anakin starts, but doesn't really know how he wants to finish it. Didn't mean it? Of course he did. Didn't know what he was doing? Sometimes he did. More often than not, at least towards the end. Didn't want to be here? That was also a lie.

"I don't know," he says again instead. "I just-- I don't--" His voice is rising in pitch and he can feel the Force twisting around him with his confusion.

"Shh," Obi-Wan soothes, back to rubbing his hand along Anakin's back. "It's all right. You don't have to."

Don't have to what? Anakin thinks wildly. But the touch is so good, so welcome after so long, not even as a cat was it this good.

"Well, I suppose we should at least get you dressed," Obi-Wan says, like that will distract them away from the issue.

Anakin doesn't mean to do this either, but it's out of him before he can stop it. He makes a desperate whimper and clings tighter to Obi-Wan when he starts to pull away. This is the first time someone's touched his skin, person to person, since the suit went on. "Please," he begs, voice hoarse and pleading. "Just-- not yet-- please--"

Obi-Wan settles, probably not fully realizing what's driving this, but if this is what Anakin needs, then they'll stay like this.

There's not much of Obi-Wan exposed, but Anakin finds what he can. His forehead pressed to the skin of Obi-Wan's neck, his face mashed against the open collar of his shirt, trying to drag it open just a little more, trying to press his cheek to Obi-Wan's chest. His left hand reaches up, brushing across the scruff of Obi-Wan's beard, pressing against the slope of where his neck meets his shoulder, just anywhere that he can get direct contact.

The rest of him is pressed against Obi-Wan as well, his legs wrapping around Obi-Wan's, his hips pressed against one side of Obi-Wan's, trying to soak up as much of it as he can.

Anakin can feel all the questions Obi-Wan wants to ask, but this is the most fragile, delicate moment he holds in his hands, he can't bear to break it, not even to know what's happening. He can see Anakin is desperate for direct touch, so he shrugs out of his shirt, his arms immediately wrapping back around Anakin as soon as they're free and Anakin relaxes again at him coming back.

He is snuggled against Obi-Wan, arms wrapped around his middle now, his hands pressed flat against the backs of Obi-Wan's shoulders, his face still jammed against Obi-Wan's throat, where he doesn't have to look at anything, where he's the warmest and safest and nothing can rip him away from this again, not right there.

This goes on for half the day, everything passing in a haze that Anakin drifts into. Neither of them say anything, just Obi-Wan lazily stroking Anakin's hair and back and sides, just Anakin pressing against him hungrily, once or twice almost nuzzling against the hollow of Obi-Wan's throat, not quite a kiss, but certainly more than just being touched starved would call for.

He doesn't care, nothing else matters here, right now.

Anakin is almost asleep, one of the things he forgot how much he loved was curling up in a warm patch of sunlight and napping, it's even better when he's in Obi-Wan's bed, still touching Obi-Wan, surrounded by his scent, and he blurts out, "I love you."

Obi-Wan's hands still on his back and Anakin can feel him inhale sharply, Anakin scrambling a bit to qualify it. "I'm still so-- I'm still-- I don't-- You still-- But I--"

Somehow, Obi-Wan understands.

"You're still angry. But you...." He leaves it at that, lets Anakin pick it up or not, as they both had gotten used to doing with Shien.

"Yes," Anakin says, to everything. He loves Obi-Wan so much. But he's so angry. But he wants this. But he's confused.

" _Do_ you want this?" Obi-Wan asks. He's gentle, careful, like Anakin might still bolt on him any moment, even though he's attached like a mynock to a starship, even though he'd probably have dug in his claws if he still had them.

"Yes," Anakin says, so desperate and so hurt and so much fuller than he's been in such a long time. It hurts to have all of this blooming inside him again, but he can't turn away, can't go back to what he was.

"Then we'll figure this out."

And just like that, Anakin knows that Obi-Wan is his _Master_ again, the person he'll follow, the person he'll trust, the person who will wield him and help him and guide him and love him.

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure Earth-standard cats even exist in the Star Wars galaxy. But that's beside the point. \:D/


End file.
